Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Glory

I’M FRANTIC, LOSING my mind in a way I can hardly describe. I’m used to withdrawing, disconnecting from reality when bad things are happening around me, but this hysterical state that’s washed over me is painful and overwhelming. Tears spill like waterfalls down my cheeks as I scream and cry, shouting for Huxley, screaming for his life.

Everything inside me hurts while everything around me swirls in chaos.

If he dies, I think I’ll die, too.

I need him.

I’ve always needed him, and I always will.

I can’t imagine a world without him.

When I hear quick footsteps pound across the floor, rushing toward me, I expect to see Ambrose appear in the doorway. My face drops in anger as a rage-filled roar bubbles in my chest, preparing to burst at the first sight of him.

But it’s not Ambrose in the doorway, it’s Huxley, and he’s coming toward the cage at a full speed run. He has a key—the key to the cage—and his hands twitch as he fumbles to insert it in the lock.

“Huxley?” My rage turns off like the flip of a switch and instantly becomes confusion.

“He told us to go. We have to run.”

I release my death grip on the bars as he unlocks the door and it swings open, my eyes wide in shock from the turn of events. He grabs my wrist and pulls, turning to run back out the doorway, but I need him. I thought he was going to die, and I have a second chance with him in front of me right now.

I yank my arm back, stopping him, and when he turns back to face me, I reach up, grab hold of his face, and pull him against me. I kiss him harder than I’ve ever kissed anyone before. He starts to pull away, but he quickly lets up, grabbing hold of my wrists by his cheeks and kisses me back.

Only moments later, he drags his lips away and drops his forehead to mine. “We have to go. We have to run, okay? He’s letting us go, and I don’t know how long it will take for him to change his mind.”

“He let you go?”

Huxley nods.

“He’s letting both of us go?” Confusion washes over me. “I thought you were dead. I thought he was going to kill you. I thought I’d never see you again.”

A flutter low in my stomach begs me to put my lips on his again, and so I do. I kiss him because I need to, because moments ago, I’d heard him fight for his life and I was already mourning the loss of him. I have to be close to him, I have to touch him.

I’m not feeling fearful of Ambrose, or an urgent need to flee…I just need Huxley. I arch my back and curve against him as I deepen our kiss. He sways backward and I sway with him until his back collides with the wall behind him.

He’s hard against my stomach, and I’m surprised by it because he was just fighting for his life, but I don’t care. I want him hard. I want him to need me as much as I need him—and I need him desperately. I need him within me, I need him all around me, everywhere.

His grip on my wrists tightens and he pulls my arms down with such force that it makes me gasp and breaks our kiss. His eyes sear into my soul as he stares down at me, his chest puffing with heavy breaths as his face strains. Several times, he looks as though he’s about to speak, but words don’t come out, only lust and need and fever.

When he finally speaks, it’s a strained whisper. “We have to go. Now.” His words express urgency to run, though his hips shift against mine.

I should be running. I should be taking his hand and dragging him along with me, bolting for the front door, running out into the forest if that’s the only way to go.

Instead, my feet are rooted to the spot, my body molded to his, my lips swollen and aching to be kissed again.

“Let go of me,” Huxley pleads. “Please, let go of me. We have to leave. We won’t get another chance.”

He’s begging me to move, to lead, as if my touch holds him here more strongly than the threat of death urges us to leave.

“Glory, move.” His voice shakes. “Move. Please, just fucking move.”

“I don’t know how to leave.”

WhatamIsaying?

All I’ve wanted was to be out of that horrid cage, to flee this place of insanity and try to find some fucked up version of normal with Huxley. Now that the opportunity is laid out in front of me, I can’t seem to take it.

I don’t know why.

I don’t know how.

But the thought of leaving now—of leaving Ambrose behind—makes me feel sick.

“Huxley…” I say his name, begging for what, I don’t know.

A crashing sound from the living room shakes us both and we jolt in surprise. Huxley blinks at me and shakes his head, somehow snapping out of whatever held him here with me.

But I don’t feel it. I don’t feel a snap, and I’m still here, still in front of him, needing him to stay here with me.

He sucks in a breath, then turns with my wrist still firmly in his grip and runs. In the blink of an eye, he’s bolting down the hallway, towing me behind him, rushing me forward so quickly that I would stumble and fall if he loosened his grip even a fraction.

He drags me into the living space, across the divide between the living room and the kitchen, heading swiftly for the front door.

No.

Ican’tleave.

Wecan’tleave.

I see Ambrose in the kitchen, his arms braced against the counter’s edge and his head bowed above the sink. Broken dishes are scattered across the floor. He’s not watching us, not chasing us, not trying to stop us. He’s really letting us go. He really wantsus to go.

No. Irefusetobelieveit.

I stop abruptly; so suddenly that it takes Huxley by surprise, and he lets go of me. I step back, then turn and creep forward an inch toward Ambrose.

“Are you really letting us go?” I ask with a tilt of my head.

“We’re not waiting for him to answer that,” Huxley says, grabbing my shoulders from behind and tugging.

I shrug him off, taking another step. “Ambrose?”

“Leave,” he says through gritted teeth. “Leave before I change my mind.”

This is when I feel it, when the knowing of something true—hated, though the truth is—washes over me. It rinses away logic and self-doubt until all that remains is desire and instinct.

I.

Can’t.

Leave.

I don’t know why, but I know I can’t leave Ambrose. I feel for him, as much as I feel for Huxley, though in an entirely different way. I feel inexplicably connected to him, as if dead hearts belong together, as if the universe dragged us all here to this house in the middle of a winding forest.

I want my words to come out strong, with conviction, but as usual, they don’t. “Change your mind.”

His head snaps toward us as Huxley grips me by the elbow and tugs me back. I plant my feet and pull away with all my might, ripping my arm from his hold.

“Glory!” Huxley is shaking, but not with rage…with anxiety. I hate that I’m causing that anxiety, but I have to do this.

I’msofuckingstupid, butIhavetodothis.

I take a step in Ambrose’s direction and clear my throat. He drops one hand from the counter and looks over at me, his dark eyebrows drawing a straight line across his forehead, eyes narrowed on me with confusion.

He takes a step forward and his movement startles me, the intensity of his energy so overwhelming that it makes me take a small step back.

“Go, little bird.” His voice is thick and smooth. “Fly free. Leave and don’t come back.”

“Do you want me to leave? Do you want us to leave?”

His eyes lift, darting to glance at Huxley behind me. “What the fuck are you waiting for? Get her the fuck out of here.”

Huxley grabs my biceps from behind and jerks me back, spinning me and shoving me toward the door. He walks me toward it, but I put up my hands, slap my palms against the wood, and push back.

“No!” I shout. “I’m not leaving. Not until he tells me that’s what he really wants.”

“He told us to go. Why isn’t that enough for you?” Huxley raises his voice as I manage to whirl around to face him, my back leaning against the door as he crowds me against it.

“He told us to go, but it’s not what he wants. He doesn’t want to hurt us. He could’ve killed us, but he didn’t.”

“He held us hostage, Glory! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I feel him before I realize he’s coming, his aura pushing against us as he charges up to our side. “Go! Leave!” Ambrose grabs me and drags me away from Huxley so harshly that I stumble toward him. He catches me against his strong chest as he wrenches the door open with one hand.

“No!”

Huxley grips my arm once again, trying to wrench me from Ambrose’s hold, drawing me into a tug-of-war between two men whose presence makes my body hum.

They both want me.

They both want me to leave.

But if I leave, this is over…this sick, festering infection will heal and the twisted perfection in my gut will stop.

Itcan’tstop.

Ican’tletit.

I’m between them as they both push me toward the doorway. Beyond it, snow falls with slow, gentle flakes softly drifting to the ground. But I won’t go. I refuse to go. And I can’t think of any other way to stop them from pushing me than to take them both by surprise.

For one brief moment, I stop fighting. I let them push me, and their bodies come together, hips bumping as I stumble a step backward onto the landing. A spark ignites the moment they touch, an undeniable flash between them that could start a wildfire—and I know Huxley doesn’t want to go, either. It’s why he hesitated when I kissed him.

When they look at each other, I let go. I allow pure instinct to take over, knowing that in this house, my instinct drives me to sexual madness.

Anyone else may think this is crazy, but I know it’s not. Crazy is the dissociation, the red filter that washed over me and disconnected my mind from the moments I became violent and murdered my father.

This—this fire, this heat, this sick and twisted thing between the three of us—is something I want. I leap forward, toss my arms around Ambrose’s neck, and kiss him. Our lips touch and the soft warmth of his against mine is the catalyst to change everything we know.

I expect Huxley to pull me away, to push Ambrose back. I expect to be shoved through the doorway again, to feel the frigid winter air on my cheeks and my breath stolen from me as I’m forced away from the only place I’ve ever really felt free.

“What’s wrong, little bird? Does being locked in a cage frighten you?Or does it set you free? Does it give you permission to do things you’ve always wanted to do but never let yourself?”

Those words Ambrose spoke to me once before ring so true now, as if he knew me then…I think he must know me now.

I feel the air leave him as it rushes from his nostrils, heating my cheeks and spreading warmth down my body. Tension breaks away from him with a snap as his hands come up to grip my cheeks and pull me closer.

“Glory, stop,” Huxley admonishes, though his voice is airy and lacks conviction.

Ambrose breaks away from me, still cradling my cheek in one hand while the other reaches out and grips Huxley by the shirt at the center of his chest. He jerks him against our sides and shuts him up with a kiss.

I gasp, shocked by the sight of it. My head jerks back in surprise, but Ambrose’s large hand slips from my cheek, his fingers sliding into my hair, wrapping around the back of my head to hold me in place. Huxley’s response shocks me because he doesn’t fight…he gives in.

He gives in like I gave in because maybe he knows what I know. We were meant to find Ambrose and devolve together to the dark magic of the lust he conjures.